Page 39 of Double Puck

“Why is she showing him photos?”

“She offered him a boat.”

I turn to stare at him. “A boat?”

“Yeah. My bet is she’s going to leave him something in her will, then he’ll feel terrible about it forever.”

I laugh before I can stop myself.

Beck looks over at me and smirks like it belongs to him.

Which is ridiculous, because he’s not even supposed to be paying attention to me right now.

He’s supposed to be proving he has value to Beachside.

And unfortunately for me and my report, so far, he’s doing a spectacular job.

Near the terrace doors, Declan is shaking hands with two hotel developers and posing for a photograph without visibly wanting to die, which for a man who wouldn’t do a media interview two months ago is a vast improvement.

Rose is talking to a group of foundation volunteers, all warm smiles and soft laughter, looking perfectly at home in the role of the coach’s daughter. Corbin has somehow acquired three dessert spoons and is attempting to convince a waiter that this is a perfectly normal way to eat crème brûlée.

Then there’s Beck.

He’s just moved across the room, and is now talking with my father.

Not only has he charmed every person through those double doors like he’s hosting the Oscars, but now he’s standing beside Charles Madden, grinning while Dad laughs.

Beck Morrison, miracle worker, has somehow cracked the uncrackable.

Dad’s hand lands on Beck’s shoulder as he says something I can’t hear over the orchestra, and Beck tips his head back with a laugh that makes the blue of his eyes sparkle beneath the chandeliers.

He looks like he belongs here.

In this ballroom. At my parents’ gala. In the place where he might be traded away from because I decided his numbers didn’t make enough sense on a spreadsheet.

My champagne suddenly tastes a little less celebratory.

"Well, don't you look like you're about to have an aneurysm."

Josie appears at my side, all honey-brown waves and a slinky emerald-green gown that instantly makes me feel underdressed.

"Hey," she says, her voice more tentative than usual as she steps in closer.

"Hey," I reply, voice overly bright.

The initial pause is awkward. Painfully so.

“So…this is…” Josie gestures to the extravagant scene around us with a slight grimace.

“Exactly what you’d expect from someone with my mother’s event planning genes?” I finish for her, managing a small smile. “My mother goes all out. She believes if you're going to raise money, you should make people feel like they're spending it in paradise."

"Smart woman." Josie bites her lip, clearly suppressing a laugh. Her gaze flickers to a passing server holding a silver tray loaded with tiny mouthfuls of expensive food. “Is that…truffle…popcorn?”

I laugh. “Like I said, welcome to paradise.”

We stand there for a moment, both of us trying too hard to sound normal. It's so forced it's ridiculous, but then Josie takes a deep breath, and straightens all five-feet-six-inches of herself.

“Darcy, listen—I—" Josie suddenly drops the polished voice. "I came over here to apologize, not to make small talk about your mother's party planning skills."